Take Me Away
by Passionworks
Summary: AU Request for TrueThinker. She is loved only for her beauty, but perhaps one living soul could change all of that for her. Rated for mild sexual content.


**Author's Note: This is my first request and it goes to my good buddy, TrueThinker. This was originally an idea of hers to write, but it never surfaced. So, she asked me to scribe it for her, mainly because she knows I will always accept her challenges! I'm going to be honest here: this is my first attempt at AU so I struggled a lot during the writing process, which is probably the main reason why the piece, as a whole, is just plain horrible. But, despite that butchering put forth upon it, I am pleased with how I depicted Ozula in this story –it is my favorite pairing, after all. I thank you, TrueThinker for that bit of inspiration!**

**It is based off of the movie 'Forrest Gump' and the relationship between Forrest and Jenny, or, in this case, Aang and Azula respectively. I attempted to recreate the juvenile in Forrest through Aang with his dialogue, but that failed miserably. Along with that, I used a few major aspects of the movie, stole a few notable quotes, and placed them –in my honest opinion –rather randomly, which was the biggest reason for the piece's downfall…**

**I used a silly little "story-telling" voice in this piece; this adds to the youthful quality I so desperately attempted to achieve. I think it worked out better than I expected, and I may have to rate this as a 'K+' –the first rating of this type I have ever used. I'm a 'T' and 'M' rated writer myself –I'm completely out of my normal boundaries, so give me a break, people!**

**I am so sorry I took so long to get this typed up for you, TrueThinker –life just got in the way (and so did school, but isn't that life too)? I truly hope this is scribed the way you envisioned it –I doubt it, though. I will totally understand if you flame and disgrace me for this piece…**

Take Me Away

By: Passionworks

"_He was a very loving man. He was always kissing and touching her and her sisters."_

_-Forrest Gump (1994)_

_He is never sober…_

Stumbling nauseously through the doorway, he guzzled down numerous bottles of sake down his hoarse throat, and crushed and tossed the unfilled ones to the floor –never bothering to dispose of them properly. But it was not in his best interest to do so. Besides, they angered him anyway –always emptying much too quickly for him. Why do the good things never last? And he had little sense of judgment: his head was spinning and churning much like his acidic stomach. He felt it bubbling within him, felt it yearn to bust him open and leave him for dead. Yes, he was a mess; his mind was on fire, burning and boiling like an active volcano. His legs were numb to the tips of his toes and down to the bone. They shivered and shook under this unknown feeling called weight, but the chain link in his body was broken –missing, really. It probably did not exist; he did not have a need to keep such a thing. He actually did not care one way or the other, but he had no way of expressing this. Words were beyond him for the most part. He slurred and slobbered the simplest tongues. He acted similar to a child just learning how to take his first steps. He was once this way, but he did not remember it –why would he wish to recall the past? It had no meaning in the long run.

Extending a trembling hand, he managed to grasp a wooden railing. The thing looked incredibly wobbly –were there two of them? Three? Four? Up the carpeted stairs he climbed, groping the walls just to keep himself off of the floor. His beady, bloodshot amber eyes –useless as they were at the moment –darted across the halls and considered the surroundings that swirled about him. He had a couple of children –young children –a son at seven and a daughter at five, but they were not around, as far as he could tell. He tripped on one of their many toys that were strewn on the floor; this was just unacceptable! He had told them to pick up after themselves before he exited –what lazy children he had (but, of course, he always littered the halls with a beer bottle or two, so he did not have much of an argument). Basically, despite the anger that boiled in his hot head, the place was just as he had left it; nothing was out of place –and isn't that just peachy?

_He is very wrong…_

His wife had left him about six months ago –somewhere around there, but he was not up to doing the math –and he did not quite know exactly why. He, of course, being a sure-fired realist, presumed that the woman ran off with another man. Oh, how he fumed over the matter –spewed a few choice words, ravenously shred a wholesome memory or two, and beat and tortured his first-born. He had every right –in his head, but who in their own right mind would call him a liar? The woman was not the most loyal thing; she was easily manipulated, easily molded and fooled. But, he was more careful –well, that might not be the best word. He was a _"love and leave them" _kind of fellow at heart, being that romance was nothing significant beyond the sexual side to it. Looking back on it all, there was no reason that he was wed to the girl –maybe the more conservative, perfect family thing or image won over him the night he proposed.

_He is never satisfied…_

The local bar in town made a nice substitute for his yearnings. Though, of course, he probably took too many swigs this particular night; it allowed him to forget his troubles for a little while. This was absolutely fine –he needed it, you see. But, as with all things, a buzz fades to nothing at all –it always does.

_He does not have a conscience…_

Something deep inside of him –it was uncertain as to where or what this was –called and propelled him forward. After much difficulty, he made his way to the top of the steps –how he managed was entirely uncertain, but that was not the point. A door then stood in his way. It was made of some sort of wood, but it was much too blurry for him to see the picture. He did see a splinter or two sprouting dangerously like weeds in the backyard, and the hinges were extra rusty –they creaked often. Slowly, very slowly, he grasped the knob; it was falling apart as well, as was the whole abode, and the family was not wealthy, you see. This action displayed his rudeness, his authority –it was not as if life _required_ him to knock –and he swung the door to the side. Stepping in, he was surrounded by oddities. The place was immaculate: not a speck of dust or an object out of place. It was swept and looked after and it frightened him a little. Was he really there in his home, or was his head not as clear as he initially judged it to be? But, what did it matter, anyway? His eyes then flitted and buzzed; nothing stirred, except for a single figure slumbering soundly in a makeshift cot.

_He does not care..._

With no concern for her condition, he pulled his only daughter up by the shoulder, instantly waking her from her reverie. She screamed at this, still unaware and weary from disturbed sleep, but a huge hand fumbled over her mouth and sealed it shut. No noise would have ever saved her –who would have believed the selfish brat anyway? His fingers sporadically moved due to his distorted vision, but his vicious rabid side emerged from the ashes –this was instinct and nothing else. Finally, he managed to reach the knot in her robe. Tearing at it willfully, he tossed it to the side and it landed carelessly to the floor. She was exposed to him; her diminutive palms futilely sheathed her undeveloped breasts. He smiled devilishly at her nakedness, and shoved himself inside of her and kissed her right on the lips. The girl struggled and fought valiantly for her liberation, but she knew that she had no chance of overcoming this –no chance at all.

_And he never stops…_

………

She has only one ally in this heinous world. She met him on the bus to school when she was five. It was so long ago, it seems; she is fourteen now. She recalled his shyness, his insecurity on that life-altering morning. She is no longer lonesome, no longer alone. But, despite the fact that they are so well acquainted, she has not the audacity to divulge into her secrets –it is a sad crime. On and on, each would speak of their lives upon a simple old tree –his truths, her lies. He is so open-minded, full of wisdom beyond his years, but perhaps he did not see through her little act. Well, you see, it really is not his place to say.

The sunset is lovely this evening: a rich mixture of orange, pink, and blue. Stars speckle the canvas, glittering with the rising full moon. And upon a thick branch, the girl waits tolerantly, counting every sparkle in the sky to pass the time.

"Azula."

She turns toward the voice with a bright smile written across her warm face. She extends a friendly hand to the visitor, helping him climb up the massive tree. Once there, he sits down next to her, but their eyes do not meet. They are physically close to one another, but distance resides on the inside: it silences the heart. This hesitation is common between them, but the brooding stillness is usually broken quite quickly.

"You know," he says in a random, almost youthful tone, "they say God is mysterious, but if you come to Him, He will answer you."

"If you could pray for anything in the world, what would you ask Him, Azula?"

She suddenly stares directly at him. She is baffled, to put it mildly; no one has ever considered her opinions before. And just a simple question it was, but it conceives an odd, deep-pitted feeling within her. It leaves an open hole in her soul, awaiting its essential fill. He is right; she admits wordlessly, she has dreams and visions all her own, but she never has any reason to delve into them.

Understanding her silence, the boy decides to reveal his first, "Well, if it was up to me, I'd pray to see the world: to get off this piece of land and meet the horizon." His finger points straight ahead as he laughs at himself, "I know it is a bit farfetched, but how about you?"

More quietness filters; is that not the typical reaction on her part? It seems that the quiet hums of nature are her only words. Crickets chirp and a neighborhood cat dashes into a nearby tree. The noise is a nice replacement, but she knows better than to expect it to last.

Impatience is unwanted, but it is clearly growing like tension on a rope, a tug on a string. She sizes up a few of her options, finding that they are limited. Oh, such slim pickings! He is always sincere with her, much _too_ sincere at times. However, her words are always falsified. This reminds her of bills and debts, a metaphor that is highly overused around the town –they still collect after a little time, a little while. But she questions this too, wondering if it matters in the long run. She lives by lies and falsehoods –compulsive and nonstop, you see. And a small part of her yearns to not exist in this way; well, it has much more of a prominent influence, to be brutally honest.

One can easily say that virtue wins over the girl's frangible heart as her words fall from her lips, "In a way, my prayers would be similar to yours."

"How so?"

A slight hesitation and a tap of her dainty foot, "I just want to disappear and leave my problems and everyone else behind me." She can just hear her father cackling madly at her request almost like a comedy. She sees his thick hands slap at his knees in this ecstasy, but she can feel the tingle of each on her own face.

"But everyone adores you around here."

She retorts, "And you believe them?"

Ah, the sound of her spiteful tone. Lovely as her defiance is, it still upsets the boy. He shrinks backward, easing himself away from her unintentionally hateful stare.

She continues, "Listen, maybe people do see me as this little popular, maybe even rich girl, but that isn't what I'm like. Not even close. And you want to know the truth? I really _have_ prayed to God to relieve me of my wretched existance. Do you have any idea what my home life is even like? You don't even know the torture my brother and I endure, day in and day out. It is almost like knocking at a door when nobody is home –you're never going to get an answer, no matter how many times you try."

"Perhaps it is not meant to be. Maybe it just isn't your time yet?" he says kindly in an affectionate tone of voice.

"Then what more could I possibly ask for?"

He smiles coolly, "You tell me."

Pregnant silence filters the air for a few seconds, but the girl recognizes that her head is screaming up a tantrum, much like the child she never was. But the boy is right, after all. Even his simplest words hold meanings that she could never comprehend. She relies on him for that –she had done so almost all her life. It seems that he is the only one that has ever been there when she needs someone to cry to, needs someone to offer a brotherly embrace.

And it allows her to realize: he is the only one to ever _love_ her…

She scoots next to him in a seemingly sexual manner. She elevates her bosom and gives him this divine little look into his gray eyes.

A hand slips to his shoulder, fingers tapping delicately, "Have you ever kissed a girl, Aang?"

He has not the chance to give her an answer, for she swiftly kisses him right on his lips. At first, his muscles tense up like stone –nervous and surprised he is right now. But the performance is a quick one; it finishes in a timing that can surprise the ticking minutes on an aged grandfather clock. Afterward, the wind ceases to blow, flowers quit blooming, the sun never sets, and people just stop getting a little older.

And there are no words in this brief period –ah, but words _no longer_ exist, dear ones. Quietness and immobility are sweet and exquisite. Love has a way of emerging through this lack of action; it is like filling cracks in a wall, to be figurative. It is _Kafkaesque_, as well, almost other-worldly.

But it is broken. Switches eventually turn back on and machines run again. Progression is an unstoppable force of nature that rotates like the earth and the circle of life.

A voice says calmly, "Perhaps you could answer my prayers, Aang?"

She pauses, "Take me. Take me away."

This is an inflexible demand…

The two step down from the tree, and underneath those branches, he does exactly what she says…

_And one day, she knocks, and someone answers the door…_


End file.
